


All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

by aileenrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Civil Engineer Dean, Fluff, Jeweler!Cas, M/M, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aileenrose/pseuds/aileenrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's too busy to pick up Sarah's engagement ring from the jeweler's. <br/>Enter Dean. He minds just a little, and then not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

As it happens, Sam’s proposal has one little hitch. The ring is a size six but Sarah’s actually a five, so Sam tracks down a jeweler who can deal with heirlooms. Not really Dean’s problem, that—he’s been Best Manning like a champ, complete with covertly filming the proposal and taking his sister-to-be to pick out stationary for the invitations since Sam got caught up in a meeting. But then, in October, Sam has to fly out of town for a conference, and Sarah’s ring needs picked up, and the last thing Sam wants is to make his busy fiancée pick up her own engagement ring.

                Enter Dean.

                “Sam, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is the first stage of you becoming a _groomzilla_. Making me your errand boy? Come on.”

                Sam’s sigh crackles over the line. “Please, Dean? It’s just this once. Imagine how happy she’s going to be when you bring her ring to work. She barely even had a chance to wear it before it went to be resized.”

                “Ugh,” Dean says. He checks the clock—almost his lunch hour. “They’re just gonna let me walk out with someone else’s ring?”

                “I’ll call ahead and tell them to expect you,” Sam says quickly. “So you’ll do it? Is that a yes?”

                “Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles. “You owe me.”

                Dean’s a civil engineer. In theory, his job is cool—he’s heading a project to redesign the underground tunnel that powers the dam’s hydroelectric turbines. Normally he’s at the office in Rochester, but often enough he has to head down to the dam at Mount Morris—monitoring the progress, inspecting the underground shafts and spillways, conducting feasibility studies, then returning to the office to passive aggressively snark in a lot of government bureaucracy bullshit emails. See, fun. So much fun that neither Sam nor Sarah nor any of his other friends, as much as they love him, ever really show an interest in knowing the specifics.  But the reality is that Dean has a wide open lunch hour and nothing he’d like more than getting out of the office.

                The jewelers that Sam tasked with resizing Mary’s ring are across town, in a swanky brick building with perfectly kept flowerboxes beneath each window. Garrison Jewelers. Hoping this only takes a few minutes, Dean climbs out of his car and walks into the store.

                Inside it’s all smudgeless glass, chrome, tinkly chandeliers. There’s a woman in fitted black suit standing right behind the counter, looking up to greet him, so he doesn’t look around anymore than necessary, just walks right up.

                “Hi, Anna,” he says, his eyes skirting over her nametag. “I’m Dean Winchester, I’m here to pick up a ring?”

                “Hi, Mr. Winchester,” Anna says. The door opens and closes behind him; he and Anna both look reflexively back and see a young couple walking in. “It’ll be brought out to you right away.” Smiling to the couple, Anna quickly walks back beyond the counters and into a discreetly placed door.

                “Winchester— his fiancée’s ring—no, he’s out front now—” Dean can only just hear the conversation taking place. He shifts on his feet, wondering if he’ll have time to stop in anywhere for lunch, and then Anna comes back out. Dean straightens up but she walks right past him and up to the couple, who are now looking at rings a few yards down from Dean. It’s only then Dean notices the man who came out behind Anna; wearing a black waistcoat and a blue tie, he’s giving Dean a professional smile from the other side of the counter.

                “H-hi,” Dean says.

                “Hello, Mr. Winchester,” the other man says. “I think I have just what you’re looking for.”

He’s holding a rectangular box across the counter; it’s black with the initials G.J. in silver scripted on the lid. Dean should probably be focusing on that. Instead, he’s stuck with this awful knee-jerk reaction to say something like _where have you been all my life_ , the kind of awfully unsmooth one-liners that Dean normally only gives out if he’s absolutely toasted at the bar. God, the guy is just that handsome.

                The man is still smiling at him, although his head is cocked a little in confusion. “Would you like to see the ring?” he says politely.

                “Oh, yeah, sure,” Dean says. He tries to look more casual. He puts one hand on the counter and then remembers it’s glass and quickly rips his hand away. There’s already a palm print left behind by his slightly-sweaty hand. Panicked, he leans an elbow over it quickly. His face must be so red.

                The man is tilting back the lid for Dean to see. “So we were able to resize your ring and reset the stones in the band. We also gave it a complimentary polish while it was here in the shop.”

                Dean stares down at it. “Oh,” is all he can say. He honestly hasn’t seen much of the ring—he remembers the gleam of it on his mother’s finger, the cool touch of it when she’d run her fingers through his hair. After she died, it had pretty much been left untouched in John’s bedside drawer until Sam made his intentions to marry pretty clear. Two decades later, it’s more brilliant than Dean ever remembers, seeming to shine with its own light from the depths of the box.

                “Is it not to your taste?” Hot-Waistcoat-Guy has a furrow of concern in his brow, leaning over the counter as well to get a look at the ring.

                “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Dean says. “Uh, stunning. Sorry. It’s my mom’s ring, long story, but, uh, nice job.”

                He wants nothing more than to sink through the floor, but the other man gives him a warm smile. “It’s a very special ring, then.”

                “Very special,” Dean agrees, and clears his throat. “Sarah will love it, thank you.”

                “You’re welcome,” the man says. “That’s what I’m here for.” They kind of awkwardly stare at each other for a second until Dean understands he’s supposed to take the ring now. That makes sense; he’s only supposed to pick it up and leave. He wills his hand to move forward and take the box.

                “So did you do that?” Dean says.  The man half-opens his mouth, and Dean clarifies, “Were you the one who reset the ring?”

                “Oh, yes,” the man says. “That’s kind of my specialty. That’s why I’m normally in the back room—” He gestures to the discreet doorway over his shoulder.

                “Well, thank you,” Dean says. He holds out his hand—the man awkwardly shifts the box into his other palm so he can shake Dean’s hand. He scans his eyes over the man’s nametag—“Uh, Castee, Castiel.”

                “Cas,” the man says, still holding his hand in a firm grip. “It was nice meeting you. I hope Sarah is satisfied with our service.”

                “Yeah,” Dean says. The mindless handshake is ongoing. “Yeah, she’ll be over the moon, she couldn’t wait to be able to wear it again.”

                “Right,” Cas says. “I’m sure you’re bringing it to her straightaway.”

                “I am,” Dean says. “Right after I leave here.” He finally realizes that they’re not even shaking hands anymore; they’re just clasping their hands over the counter. He quickly snatches his hand away, as if Cas hadn’t been able to realize the same thing. “Okay. Thanks so much. Have a great day.”

                “You too,” Cas says. He holds the ring box across the counter for Dean to take, and this time Dean does. Why do Cas’s eyes have to be so friendly and warm and _blue_? Dean gives him another nod and finally pulls his unwilling body out of the store.

                In the Impala, he rubs his hands over his eyes. Sheesh. That was a minor disaster. He checks the time and groans. He doesn’t even want to know how long that awkward hand-hugging was going on, but now he has _just_ enough time to run over to the gallery and drop off the ring. Oh, well. He’ll have a vending machine lunch at the office when he gets back.

                Sarah, of course, is thrilled. She’s waiting outside the gallery when Dean drives up and all but snatches the box out of Dean’s hand.

                “Oh, it’s so much prettier than I remember,” she gasps, lifting it up. “Look at the way the diamonds catch the light.”

                “It’s ‘cause the jeweler—Cas—he, uh, cleaned and polished it for you,” Dean supplies helpfully.

                “It fits _perfectly_ ,” Sarah says. She extends her hand for Dean to see. It does fit perfectly. It looks like the ring was made just for her finger alone.

                “You look amazing,” Dean says, squinting against the sunlight to smile at her.

                Sarah rubs the ring with her other hand. “Thank you for doing this, Dean. It means a lot to me.”

                “Hey, Sam’s out of town, you know it’s not a—”

                “You know what I mean,” Sarah says. Dean does. As the oldest, if Dean had wanted Mary’s ring for a future wife, it would have been Dean’s to have. But Dean wasn’t looking for a future wife.

                “I have to get to work,” Dean says. “See you tomorrow night, right?”

                “Right,” Sarah says. She leans through the window to drop a kiss on Dean’s head. “Don’t work too hard.”

                “Can’t promise anything,” Dean says, and waits until Sarah’s inside before he drives away.

**

                Dean’s supposed to be drawing up a project analysis, but instead he’s looking at the Garrison Jewelers website like the complete creep he is. There’s a tab that says _About Us_ and he clicks it. Apparently it’s a three-generation long family-run business. He controls to scroll down and sees that the current owner is a serious-looking dude named Michael. The other staff includes a lady named Hester, Gabriel, Anna, and finally Cas. Along with their credentials, there are little pictures next to each name, unposed pictures showing them performing their jobs. Anna is shown gesturing over a tray of necklaces, Michael inspecting an uncut diamond. In Cas’s, he’s looking up from a work station, wearing this dorky visor thing with a magnifying glass over his eye. Although almost everyone else is listed as public relations or customer service, Cas’s lists him as a master jeweler and a certified stone setter. That seems impressive.

                Dean can’t claim to know anything about jewelry. He can’t say he notices or admires necklaces or rings most of the time. But imagining Cas, in the back room of that store, with his eyes narrowed in concentration, his long, capable fingers performing tiny maneuvers without so much as a tremble—well. It makes Dean wish he had a reason to see him again.

**

                Down in the tunnels, it’s hard to keep track of the time. Where the men work, everything is illuminated by artificial lighting—apart from that, it’s pitch black.

`               “Okay,” Dean says. He looks down at his clipboard and then back up at the foreman, Rufus. “Walk me through the latest steps.”

                Rufus grunts for him to follow as he starts walking towards the men working further down the tunnel. “So far we’ve been casting the tunnel and reinforcing it with steel. But now that we’re underneath the river, we’re running into problems.”

                Their boots ring over the train tracks installed along the floor. This has all already been rehabilitated—it’s taken two years to get almost halfway. And here they are, halfway, right beneath the Genesee River, and up ahead Rufus’s men are working on installing the cast in the next portion of the tunnel. The cast is essentially a circular metal gridlock of bars, making Dean think, when he’s inside it, that he’s either in a hamster wheel or a seriously weird jail cell.

                Dean nods hello to the workers as he and Rufus walk past them, to the unfinished part of the tunnel. This is all concrete, moldy-smelling and slick, and Dean thinks he can hear water trickling somewhere.

                Rufus shines his flashlight around the tunnel walls. “Here’s the problem. I’m seriously surprised this part of the tunnel hasn’t caved in yet. See the ceiling? Ol’ Lady Genesee is about to come pouring out of there any day now.”

                Dean looks at the cracks in the concrete all along the ceiling. “Shit. Do we need to pull the men out?”

                “What we need to do is make a decision,” Rufus says. “Either build a bypass tunnel, and seal this one off, or—”

                “Or what?” Dean says. “Scrap the project?”

                Rufus doesn’t say anything right away. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, son. But building a whole new tunnel is gonna cost you.”

                “Give me a number,” Dean says.

                “Dean—”

                “Come on. Just tell me.”

                “Three hundred.”

                “Thousand, right?”

                Rufus’s eyebrows inch higher on his forehead. Not thousand, then.

                “Shit, shit,” Dean says. Rufus pats his shoulder sympathetically. Dean thinks for a minute. “Okay. Get a man down here to determine how long we have until there’s a leak. Until then, pull everyone out. I don’t want anyone working down here until I know it’s safe.”

                “You got it,” Rufus says. He stands by Dean’s side for a second before he moves on, back towards his crew, leaving Dean standing alone at the end of all the progress they made. Halfway there, maybe no further. He closes his eyes and just breathes in the damp air until the racket of the crew leaving fades away.

                Above ground, it’s lightly snowing. Dean’s Impala is parked in the gravel by the entrance to the tunnel. He crunches over to it as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s blowing up with missed calls and texts from while he was down in the tunnel. He rings his brother back first.

                “Hey, Sam,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t have reception.”

                “No problem,” Sam says. “How’s work?”

It’s nice of him to ask, even if Dean knows better than to bore him with details. “Yeah, all good,” Dean says.

“Cool. I was just going to tell you that Christmas is officially at my place this year.”

                “You know I don’t mind—”

                “Nah, I know you’re busy with work. Plus Sarah says she has a present for me that is too big to bring over to your place.”

                “I wonder what it is,” Dean lies. He already knows Sarah bought Sam a new grill.

                “Which reminds me—I need to get over to Garrison and pick up Sarah’s—”

                “Wait,” Dean says. “The jewelry store? Why’s that?”

                “Custom-made earrings, to match the ring,” Sam says.

                “Let me,” Dean offers quickly. “I’ll pick them up for you.”

                “Oh,” Sam says. “That’s okay. You don’t need to make a special trip.”

                “I want to,” Dean says. “Best man, remember? I’m supposed to be running all of your errands.”

                There’s a suspicious silence on the other end. “That’s awfully generous of you,” Sam observes. “Isn’t it, like, an hour’s drive back—?”

                “Just let me,” Dean says. “It’s not a problem at all.”

                “Okay,” Sam says. “Uh, thank you.”

                Which is not to say that Dean wouldn’t have offered otherwise. He’s used to putting Sam’s needs first. It’s nothing he’s upset about, just a statement of fact—ever since they were kids, Sam’s needs have been Dean’s priority. But Dean has to admit that maybe, this time, there’s something in it for him, too. Even though he hasn’t been to that store in over a month, he still thinks of it more than he should. Thinks of Cas more than he should. It’s just a crush, he reminds himself. There’s nothing wrong with looking.

                Nothing wrong, except as soon as he walks into Garrison he’s looked over the whole store in less than two seconds flat and doesn’t see Cas anywhere in sight. Because Cas doesn’t work customer service, and Dean knows that, so he’s immediately staring at the door in the back, willing Cas to appear.

                “Hi there,” a woman says. Her nametag says _Hester._ “How can I help you?”

                “Winchester,” Dean says. “I’m picking up a pair of earrings.”

                She smiles. “Let me get them for you.”

                “Oh, right,” Dean says. “Okay.” Hester walks into the back room and, after a moment, reappears. Just her. Carrying a box that must have the earrings in them.

                Hester comes to a stop in front of him and pops the lid of the box off. “How do you like them?” she says.

                Dean risks another look into the backroom before focusing on the earrings. “Oh, yeah. They’re, uh, very nice. Thanks.” Hester nods and puts the lid back on before handing the package over to Dean.

                “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Winchester?”

                “No, no,” Dean says distractedly. He sees a movement in the back doorway and then he sees Cas, walking by, chancing a look out into the front of the store and then double-taking when he sees Dean. Dean smiles hopefully.

                “Can I—” Hester says, and then looks back to where Dean is looking. Cas smiles back, bashfully, and comes out. He murmurs something to Hester and then comes to stand on the other side of the counter from Dean.

                “Hello again, Mister Winchester,” he says. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on Dean’s part, but Cas actually seems pleased to see him. “I didn’t think I—um, those are for Sarah, I’m guessing?” He’s gesturing towards the box in Dean’s hands.

                “Yeah, good guess,” Dean says. It’s weird, how all the stress he was feeling about his project has suddenly disappeared, at least for now. That he can even feel light and carefree after that meeting with Rufus. “Did you make them?”

                “I did,” Cas says. “I hope you like them?”

                “Oh, they’re great,” Dean says. Truthfully he barely remembers what they look like.

                “But the important thing,” Cas says, watching Dean closely, “Is that Sarah likes them.”

                “I’m sure she’ll love them,” Dean says. “You should be in customer service, man. That’s awesome you remembered our names.”

                Cas turns very faintly pink. “You were….memorable,” he says, and looks away for a moment, busying his hands with something beneath the counter that Dean can’t see. When Cas looks up again his face is perfectly normal. “How have you been, Mister Winchester?”

                “It’s Dean,” he blurts out. “You can just call me Dean.”

                “Okay,” Cas says. “Dean, then.”

                “I’m good,” Dean says. “Well, I’ve been better. But I’m good overall. You know.”

                Cas doesn’t know. Cas doesn’t know _him_. Dean is suddenly struck by how ridiculous the situation is, coming to pick up Sam’s fiancée’s jewelry on the off-chance this beautiful man with a gift for choosing form-fitting waistcoats might talk to him. He feels a light touch on his sleeve, startling him out of his thoughts.

                “What’s the matter?” Cas asks. Dean looks down at the hand on his arm and then back into Cas’s face.

                “Work,” he says. “I’m an engineer, actually—I’m in charge of a project that—well, it’s an underground tunnel, and it’s halfway done and it might get axed, and yeah.”

                “Like the ones beneath New York City?” Cas asks. He leans forward and says, confidentially, “I’ve heard about those. Deserted subway stations. Rats the size of dogs.”

                It surprises a laugh out of Dean. “No, nothing like that. It’s actually supposed to be a service tunnel for the dam. Hydroelectric power, and all that. But even with the renewable energy, if it costs so much money to rehabilitate, they might just scrap it altogether.”

                Cas looked a little disappointed about the lack of dog-sized rats, but now he’s just watching Dean intently, listening, and he says, “It sounds like an important project.”

                “I think it is, at least,” Dean says. He can still feel the warm touch of Cas’s hand against his arm, but he’s willing himself not to look. If he does, Cas might become aware of it, snatch his hand away.

                “I like that you’re passionate about it,” Cas says, and then—even with Dean’s determination not to let on—he does look down, and takes his hand quickly away. Dean just drinks in as much as he can while Cas can’t catch him—the tousled waves of his hair, the brush of his eyelashes against his cheek.

                “But, uh, you probably have other things you need to do,” Cas says. He straightens up and smiles at Dean. It’s only then that Dean realizes how closely they were leaned together over the counter. Dean straightens up as well.

                “Of course,” Dean says. “Yeah. Thanks again, Cas.”

                “Have a great day,” Cas says, the model of customer service, and he waves Dean out of the store.

                In the Impala, Dean slides the box out and looks closely at the earrings. He still doesn’t know anything about the time or effort it would take to make these. But he does like to imagine Cas patiently setting each stone, his fingers dexterous and precise, his focus narrowed down to just this. That Cas had spent time and energy on it. That Cas could have that level of care for something that Dean had now in his hands.

                Dean doesn’t like where those thoughts are headed.

**

                In January, two months before the wedding, Sam starts using Dean as an errand boy again. This time, it’s to pick up his and Sarah’s wedding bands from Garrison Jewelers.

                “Well, since you like going there so much—” Sam says.

                “Shut up,” Dean grumbles. He hasn’t gone back since. There’d been no reason to, and besides—he was up to his ears in paperwork, trying to justify the continuation of a project that would have to double its budget. He didn’t have or need to spend his time mooning over a guy who was just trying to do his job.

                And, well, so what if he put on some cologne and dressed in one of his nicer shirts before walking into Garrison. It never hurt anyone to look nice.

                The place is practically deserted when he gets there. Dean checks the time and realizes that it’s because the store closes in about 45 minutes. Hester is there again, greeting him with a polite smile, but he doesn’t tell her right away what he’s there for. Instead, he takes the opportunity to walk around the store a little, taking in all the different, expensive decorations that people can possibly gift each other with.

                Nothing’s really catching his eye until he passes a glass case that is filled with rings—men’s rings, each one set with a dark kind of stone that Dean can’t really place.

                “Do you like them?”

                And Dean’s been trying to wean himself off this crush, because he has nothing to go on that it could be returned, but as soon as he hears the familiar, deep gravel of that voice, he has to smile. He can’t help it.

                “Hey, Cas,” he says, looking up from the case. Cas is standing on the other side of the counter, wearing a silvery waistcoat and an uncharacteristically nervous expression. “They’re really cool looking. What’s the stone?”

                “Meteorite, actually,” Cas says. A quick grin flashes over his face when Dean makes a surprised sound. “It was my idea, actually—my design. Michael—that’s my uncle—let me make a small collection for the store to see if they could garner any interest.”

                “Why meteorite?” Dean asks.

                “Because it fascinates me,” Cas answers. He leans over the case, his head crooked next to Dean’s, and looks down at his collection. “We deem certain elements or gems as being special, but I find myself more interested in something that is entirely other to Earth. Each ring is carrying a piece of something that is over four billion years old. Each ring carries a piece of something that traveled through the heavens for longer than the human race has even been alive.”

                Dean chances a look out of the corner of his eye. The lights in the case are catching on the planes of Cas’s downturned face. Cas’s cheekbone is right there, inches away, and his perfect five o’clock shadow and the delicate curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, just over the collar of his shirt. He realizes Cas is waiting for him to say something.

                “I think they’re amazing,” he says. “People must be buying them like crazy.”

                “Not quite,” Cas says. “They’ve been holding their own, though. If I—” he swallows. “Sorry, that’s nothing you’d want to hear.”

                “Hey,” Dean says. “Don’t assume.”

                Cas casts him a sidelong look and says, “If I ever got married, I would want something like this. I mean, that sounds narcissistic because the collection is my own, but what I really like is their meaning. Love symbolized by something ageless, otherworldly—” He suddenly laughs, smiling over at Dean. “See what happens when you work in a field like mine. You become incredibly sappy.”

                “That was kind of sappy,” Dean says.

                “Well, I apologize,” Cas says, and leans his elbows against the counter. “What brings you here today, Dean?”

                “Oh yeah,” Dean says. “Sorry, you must be closing soon. Picking up wedding bands, actually.”

                There had been something fond and soft in Cas’s eyes when he looked at Dean, Dean was sure of it. And then suddenly that look disappears like it had been a light and something had snuffed it out.

                “Oh,” Cas says. “Of course.” He draws back, tucking his elbows into his sides. He doesn’t look at Dean. Instead, he wheels around and marches into the back room without another word. Dean can only wait, confused—but, as he checks his watch, they close in only fifteen minutes. Maybe Cas just needs to hurry him out of the store.

                Cas comes back a few minutes later. His head is down, his lips pursed to the side. He slides a box across the counter to Dean.

                “Just what you’re looking for,” Cas says stiffly. “The wedding must be soon?”

                “Two months,” Dean says.

                “Right,” Cas says. He’s already backing away from the counter. “Well, I probably won’t see you before then, so congratulations.”

                “Thank…you,” Dean says. He’s still feeling emotionally whiplashed by Cas’s abrupt change in demeanor when Cas gives him a quick, close-lipped smile and ducks into the back room.

                Dean looks around for Hester, but she’s dusting a display across the store and seems serenely unaware of what just happened. He looks into the back room again but he sees nothing, no Cas, not even a sound, so eventually he picks up the box and leaves the store.

**

                Sam and Sarah get married and it’s everything it should be. Dean’s standing there, at Sam’s shoulder, when Sarah enters the hall on her father’s arm and Sam just _gasps_. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, just in case Sam needs it, but Sam only has eyes for one person. Sam can’t focus on anyone else but her. Dean wonders what that feels like.

                After the reception, and the cake, the dancing, the garter toss, Sam and Sarah run towards a limo on the curb while the crowd throws rice after them. They smile and wave through the window, wrapped around each other, on the way to the hotel and then the airport the next morning. And then everyone starts slowly petering out, foot-sore and happy, and Dean and the remaining groomsmen start cleaning up the trashed reception hall. It’s past three by the time he gets home.

                It’s still a long time before he goes to sleep. He hates doing this to himself, because it never leads to anything good, comparing himself to Sam. Sam has never been anything but supportive of him. Sam loves him like no one else ever has. And yet. Dean can’t help but chase circles in his mind sometimes. Ever since he was young, it’s been like this. Why couldn’t he be as smart as Sam—Sam would argue that wasn’t true. When he realized he didn’t like girls the way other boys liked girls, he wondered why he couldn’t be _normal_ like Sam. And now, 32 and going to bed alone, he wonders why he can’t have what Sam has. Why he’s dated his fair share and still never found someone who loves him, who wants him. Someone who looks at him like he’s the answer to every question. Why it always has to be like this, that Sam, who deserves all good things, will inevitably have something that Dean covets.

                And, well, Dean’s gotten over a lot of things. He doesn’t wish that he was smart like Sam or liked girls like Sam—he’s happy with who he is. But still sometimes he _wants_.

                The next day, during his lunch break, he drives over to Garrison Jewelers. He’s just going to do it. He’s going to put himself out on the line and ask Cas. He knows the answer might be a no, but still—fuck it. If there’s even a chance, for him and Cas, he wants to know.

                When he walks into the store, the redhead—Anna—is behind the counter, assisting an elderly man. Dean waits around, hands in his pockets, heart fluttering, casting an eye towards the back room as often as he can without being suspicious. Finally the older man shuffles off and Dean approaches Anna. She doesn’t appear to recognize him.

                “Hi, how I can help you?” she greets.

                “I was wondering if Cas is in,” Dean says. His heart is really thundering by now. He wonders if she can tell.

                “He is, would you like me to tell him you’re out here?”

                “Please,” Dean says.  “Tell him it’s Dean.”

He watches as she disappears into the back room. He hears her saying something, and then a deeper voice starts talking quietly, something he can’t hear. There’s an overly-long pause, the longest he’s ever had to wait. Finally, Anna comes back out, alone, looking a little harried. She gives Dean an uneasy smile.

                “I’m sorry, I was mistaken. Cas isn’t here today.”

                Dean feels his stomach drop. “Oh yeah?” he says. He looks towards the back room again, but the doorway stays noticeably empty.

                “I’m sorry,” she repeats again. She doesn’t seem to know what else to say or do; well, join the club. Dean finally swallows back his disappointment.

                “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Uh, thanks anyways.” He doesn’t let himself look at her again, or at the back room. Dean can’t remember the walk back to the car, just suddenly realizes he’s in the driver’s seat, burning with shame. He quickly twists the key in the ignition.

                At least now he knows. At least now he knows better than to go back, making Cas uncomfortable. He must’ve been so easy to spot, loitering around in Cas’s workplace, desperate enough to pick up his brother’s jewelry if it meant seeing Cas. That kind of desperation is more than just off-putting.

                At least now he knows. He turns the volume up on his radio. At least now he knows.

**

                Dean’s in another meeting again, trying to justify why his project deserves to stay alive. It hasn’t been pretty.

                “I realize this is a drastic increase to the budget,” he says. He’s trying to be polite, hands folded on the table and everything, meeting everyone’s eye. “However, I would encourage you to look at the cost-benefit analysis I prepared for the purpose of this meeting. You’ve already sunk your money into completing half of the tunnel already. At this point, going over budget to complete the tunnel you have already half-paid for is the best scenario going forward.”

                “By your own admission, building a bypass tunnel would add another three years to this project,” Adler says, flipping through Dean’s report idly.

                “Yes. But the long-term goal, as we all remember, is to generate safe, renewable power. In the long run, this move not only benefits the company, it benefits everyone. This tunnel is a future-oriented goal.”

                “And you are absolutely sure the tunnel, as it is, is unusable?” Adler asks. “Your crew is absolutely certain this extra work is necessary?”

                “Listen, I’m sorry, but I see the angle you’re going for and it’s ridiculous,” Dean says. Adler looks up in surprise. “My only choices for this project should not be to either scrap it or risk peoples’ lives by continuing work in a high-risk area of the tunnel. Not to mention we both know that when that tunnel collapses—tomorrow or seven years down the road—it will cost more money to repair than it is worth. So I’m asking us to get in front of the problem, to give me a higher ceiling on my budget, because one setback shouldn’t prevent millions of people from having access to clean energy.”

                No one talks for a few seconds.

                “Thank you, Dean, for that…compelling argument,” Adler says in a soft voice. Dean sits there, fuming, for the last few comments of the meeting, and then he’s the first one out the door.

                In the office, he slumps into his chair. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to go overboard. He doesn’t want his project to be shot down just because he got smart with his boss’s boss.

                Dean tries to complete some other work but he’s too busy thinking about the meeting. Finally he powers down his computer and leaves. In the Impala, he doesn’t start the car right away, wondering where to go. Finally, he flips his visor down and drives.

                The Genesee Riverway Trail is only about ten minutes from his downtown office. This is the park where Sam and Sarah had their engagement photos, standing on the boardwalk over the river while the sun set. This is the park that his parents used to take him and Sam to when they were little, when Sam was still young enough to need training wheels. John had taught him to fish from the bridge.

                He’s not dressed like many of the other people here—everyone else walking or biking, so his suit is noticeable. He at least shucks out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his white button-down. He walks down along the river and leans against the rail, staring down at the Genesee and liking the cool mist against his face. Miles downriver is the dam, not that he can see it from here. If his project ever becomes a reality—

                He’s startled out of his thoughts by the slapping sound of someone running by him. He lifts his head and sees a man rounding the bend in the trial, wearing a gray shirt, dark with sweat, and running shorts. Dean only realizes it’s Cas at the same time Cas looks up and sees him. Cas stops abruptly, still a few feet away.

                Cas’s eyes are wide. “I—” he says. He takes one of his earbuds out, leaves it dangling against his shoulder. “Hi.”

                “Hi,” Dean says. He’s never seen Cas out of his waistcoats, but he can’t say this is a bad look. Not that he should be looking. Cas made it perfectly clear that the interest is not returned.

                Cas can’t seem to meet his eyes. Instead, he’s looking down at Dean’s hands, where they’re clenched around the rail. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Cas says.

                “There was no reason to come by,” Dean says. That’s technically the truth—Sam and Sarah are set in the jewelry department for a long time to come—but for some reason Cas flinches.

                “Right,” Cas says. He starts to lift his earbud back up, about to resume his run, but then pauses. “Dean, for what it’s worth—I’m sorry, it just wasn’t…right.”

                “Yeah? What part?”

                “Come on, Dean, do I really—”

                “I never did anything wrong,” Dean says, heated, turning away from the railing to face Cas. “What’s so bad about me wanting to talk to you?”

                Cas’s face turns an interesting shade of red. His mouth works for a second, and then he finally says, in a small voice, “I’m sorry, Dean, I think I might have gotten this all wrong.”

                Dean stares at him. “What?”

                “I— _fuck_ ,” Cas curses suddenly. He puts his hands on his hips. “I’m normally really good at knowing the signs, too. Okay. Dean, I hope this doesn’t offend you, but all along I thought you were flirting with me—”

                Dean feels helpless laughter start bubbling up in his throat.

                Cas is staring up at a fixed point above Dean’s head, still going, like this is a confession he’s being forced to make. “—Obviously I shouldn’t have assumed that, and obviously I was wrong. So. I have thoroughly made a fool out of myself, so I’m just going to—”

                Dean comes forward and puts a hand on Cas’s arm. “I _was_ flirting with you. I was very obviously flirting with you.”

                Cas is speechless for the second time. “You—” he says. He shrugs Dean’s hand off. “You can’t be flirting with me!”

                “Why not?”

                “Because you’re with Sarah,” Cas hisses. “You can’t just come into _my_ work buying jewelry for your wife and flirt with another man while you’re in there—”

                “I’m not with Sarah,” Dean says. He’s actually surprised by how calm and rational he sounds, because his body feels it’s filled with fireworks right now. “Sarah’s my sister-in-law.”

                “Come off it!” Cas says. He’s the most riled-up Dean’s ever seen. “The very first day I ever saw you, you were picking up her engagement ring! Anna said you were there—”

                “I know, I know—”

                “—Mr. Winchester, picking up his ring—”

                “Yeah, for my brother,” Dean says. “Sam. Sam Winchester. God,” he says, laughing. “God, you remembered my name, mine and Sarah’s. I just thought you knew this whole time, that someone had told you why I was there.”

                Cas doesn’t say anything. He looks like he’s been slapped upside the head.

                “Look, I can show you pictures,” Dean says. “Their wedding was last month, I was the best man—” He goes to reach into his pocket but Cas shakes his head.

                “I believe you,” Cas says. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “This…changes things.”

                “Does it?” Dean says.

                Cas looks up. “I mean, I hope so,” he fumbles. “Maybe not. I was really rude to you the last time you came in.”

                “Come with me,” Dean says suddenly. “I want to show you something.”

                “Now?”

                “Yeah,” Dean says. “I really think I want to share this with you.”

                Cas looks around for a moment and then nods. “Okay.” They walk the trail back to the parking lot, neither of them saying anything to each other. Once there, Dean goes to his car and Cas walks to his own. Dean idles at the exit to the parking lot until Cas is behind him.

                It’s an hour’s drive down to the dam. The sun sets, and Dean turns his headlights on, and every few minutes he’s checking his rearview mirror to make sure Cas is still there. To see if Cas is still with him. And Cas is, every time he checks. It fills Dean with this nervous, bright feeling, seeing the golden beams of Cas’s headlights filling Dean’s rearview, steady and true. He’s never had someone follow him anywhere unless they had to. This seems different.

                Dean’s already waiting outside his car when Cas pulls into the gravel parking lot. Cas climbs out of his car and comes to stand next to Dean, both of them looking down at the metal door set into the ground between the parking lot and the river.

                “Hold this,” Dean says, and hands Cas the flashlight. “I’ll go first.”

                He unlocks the padlock, swings the door open, and then goes feet-first down the ladder. The beam switches on as Cas stands over the doorway, looking down at him. When Dean reaches the bottom, he gestures, and Cas puts the flashlight in his teeth and follows.

                When he reaches the bottom, Dean grabs out in the dark for Cas’s hand, which is already there, already open, waiting for him. Their fingers close together.

                “This is your tunnel,” Cas observes. “The one you’re heading for your project.”

                “Yep,” Dean says. “My bosses are gonna decide in the next few days whether to keep going with it or trash it altogether. If it’s trashed, this whole tunnel will be sealed off. All my hard work gone.”

                Cas runs the fingers of his free hand along the wall. “But it’s important.”

                “Sometimes even important things don’t work out,” Dean says. Cas doesn’t reply so he squeezes his hand and walks further down the tunnel. His voice echoes as he points out to Cas the work that’s already been done. There’s something soothing about telling Cas about each rock anchor drilled into the bedrock, how many tons of steel have been poured. Since this project began, Dean’s known this tunnel better than he knows his own face in the mirror. Every square inch that’s been completed is one that Dean knows by heart. Cas doesn’t say anything as Dean talks, just listens.

                They reach the end of the completed work. Dean’s flashlight swings around the cast, showing how it’s been bolted into the concrete of the tunnel, meant to be layered over with steel.

                “Looks like a hamster wheel,” Cas says seriously, which makes Dean laugh. And then Dean shows him the tunnel beyond, doomed to crumble from water leakage someday, maybe even soon. Even as he thinks it, a drop of water plinks down onto his eyebrow.

                “If my project gets reapproved, this will be all closed up. We’re gonna divert the tunnel around and meet back up with the original closer to shore on the other side. That would be in three to four years, and then—well, I guess I shouldn’t think too far ahead. At the end of the day, years of my life get dedicated to something that no one ever sees or cares about.”

                “Don’t say that,” Cas says. “I know this means a lot to you.”

                “Yeah?”

                “Yeah,” Cas says. “Dean, I know what it’s like to want to be able to share something that’s special to you with someone else. And I, I guess what I’m trying to say is—if you’re still interested, I mean, because I know—”

                The flashlight drops from Dean’s hand, seeing as he needs both to grab Cas by the front of his shirt and finally kiss the lights out of him. Cas makes a surprised, pleased sound and stumbles back into the cast, which is why five minutes later, when the flashlight sputters out and dies, they freeze in the middle of what must look like some serious jailhouse kink—Cas, fingers twined with the bars overhead, using the leverage to grind down on Dean’s thigh, Dean gripping the bars on either side of Cas’s head while he sucks a kiss across Cas’s collarbone—

                “I, uh,” Cas says. His voice sounds even deeper now. “I think we’re finally on the same page.”

                Dean laughs as he detaches himself with difficulty from Cas’s skin. “What page is that?”

                “The one where we get to share more, uh, special things with each other.”

                “You’re a sap,” Dean says.

                “Yeah,” Cas breathes.              

                Eventually Dean sighs and peels away from Cas, but not before taking his hand. He guides Cas back down the tunnel from memory, feeling forward in the darkness. Cas doesn’t say anything, warm and close at Dean’s side. At the ladder, Cas goes up first, the dark shape of him eclipsing the star-studded sky overhead, and then he waits at the top to pull Dean up, one hand clasped in Dean’s, the other gripped around his shoulder. Above ground, the wind is fresh and cold, nice after the stuffy air in the tunnel.

                “I know it’ll take an hour to get there,” Dean starts, “But I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place. To, uh, continue where we left off.”

                “Yeah, sure,” Cas says. He sounds a little distracted. Dean reels him in with a hand around his waist and presses their lips together.

                “Okay,” Dean says. “I’ll see you soon.” They smile at each other, a little shyly, and then Dean breaks away and starts walking towards the Impala. He hasn’t gone three steps before he hears the gravel crunching behind him—Cas’s footsteps—and then he’s being swung around and pushed back against the Impala.  

                “Couldn’t wait that long,” Cas says. “Round one.”

                Round one is quick and messy on the hood of the Impala, Cas’s hips pressed almost painfully against his, slicking them together in one fist. Dean comes with a strangled sound, bumping his head backwards into the hood hard enough for small lights to dance in his eyes. Cas eventually pushes up from Dean’s slumped form and tucks himself back in. Since Dean is just lying there, he does the same for Dean.

                “Okay,” Cas says. He sounds breathless, maybe a little smug. “See you at your place.”

                Dean finally gathers the wherewithal to unlock the Impala and fire her up. One hour and twelve minutes later, round two happens in Dean’s bathroom, fucking Cas up against the door as soon as he finds the condoms and lube beneath the sink.

                Round three in Dean’s bed, either very late or extremely early. Still loose; Dean slides right home.  Cas, pliant and pleased beneath him. Crying out hoarsely, half-muffled, against Dean’s skin. Cas’s legs around his waist, his feet balanced on Dean’s lower back; Dean remembers how Cas’s toes, clenched tight in his socks, had curled and uncurled, digging into his skin, when he came.

                The next morning, Dean makes them breakfast and gives Cas a change of clothes. He turns on the TV and they chat about mundane things like the weather and the local elections. Round four is on the rug on the living room floor, with everything made gold in the sunlight.

                “What do you want?” Cas whispers. He takes his time opening Dean up.

                And maybe that’s all there is to it. It’s like a leak springs opens in Dean’s chest. For once in his life, he feels like he’s allowed to be selfish, for all his desires to rise to the surface. What does Dean want? The answer is like a password, or a prayer.

                “You,” Dean cries, as Cas, trembling, presses fully within him. “You, you, you—”

**

**Three Years Later**

                It doesn’t go quite to plan. When Dean walks into Garrison Jewelers one Sunday in October, there’s no one out front but a very frazzled-looking Cas.

                “What are you doing out here?” Dean says. “Customer service isn’t your gig.”

                Cas is wiping the already pristine surface of the counter with a cloth, his movements aggressive. “I don’t know,” he says. “It was only supposed to be Gabriel and me working today and he called off. Which is fine, whatever, but I could have _sworn_ I just saw Gabriel driving by—it’s kind of hard to miss his car—so he’s obviously not sick. And you know what? Sam was here! I saw him look through the door and everything. But he didn’t even come in—”

                Dean swings around, looking at the entrance again, but neither his brother nor anyone else is anywhere to be seen.

                Cas narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “Sam sent you, didn’t he? Probably hoping you could get him a discount—I have honestly never seen a couple that celebrates more occasions than them. What’s today? The anniversary of the first time they smiled at each other—”

                Dean reaches out and puts a hand over Cas’s, stilling him. “Rein it in a little, mister grumpy.”

                “I’m not being grumpy,” Cas mutters.

                “Yeah you are,” Dean says easily. He clasps Cas’s head between his palms and draws him, unwilling, across the counter so he can brush a kiss against his lips.

                “There we go,” Dean says. “I’m sure Gabriel had a good reason to call off.”

                “Probably,” Cas says after a moment. “Anyways. What are you doing here?”

                Dean leans against the case, reclaiming Cas’s hand again. “You know what today is?” Cas opens his mouth but Dean cuts in, “It has nothing to do with Sam and Sarah, I promise.”

                “I don’t know,” Cas says, distracted. “It’s not—Dean, I thought it didn’t finish for another three weeks!”

                “It’s not my project, either,” Dean says. “I’ll give you a hint. Three years ago today, Sarah’s engagement ring was resized and ready to be picked up.”

                Cas doesn’t look impressed.

                “So,” Dean continues, “today was the day you and I met. Remember? Sam had me pick it up.”

                “Oh, yeah,” Cas says. A smile starts spreading across his lips. “And Anna pawned you off on me because she had other customers—”       

                “—And there was miscommunication as to whether I was the groom or the groom’s best  man,” Dean says. “Yeah. What a riot.”

                Cas shakes his head. “We should do something to celebrate.”

                “Yeah, about that,” Dean says. “I already have something in mind—”

                There’s a crash in the backroom as a crowd of people start moving through—Sam (looking sheepish for blowing his cover) and Sarah, Anna and Gabriel and Hester and Michael, Dean and Cas’s next door neighbors of two years, Charlie and Gilda, and Rufus and Tracy from work and Meg—

                “Dean, wha—” Cas says. Gabriel—to his credit—had apparently decided to stock up for the impending celebration; he’s carrying in bag after bag of champagne, plastic wine flutes, sweets. Michael’s locking the front door to prevent any customers from coming in, and Sam already has a camera out and filming.

                “I was thinking I could use a ring right about now,” Dean says. “It’s got to be something special. Personal, you know. It’s not just about being shiny, or expensive, the ring has to somehow say that our love is bigger than us. That it can take us places we never would have gone otherwise.”

                The room is loud around him; people jostling into place to watch. This is what Dean’s wanted. This is what Cas has said he’s wanted, too—their family and friends with them to celebrate; it didn’t matter the time or the place. They’d only let themselves talk about it a few times, usually late at night, voices soft, dreaming into the dark.

                Dean leans close over the counter. “Just let me know this is okay so far, Cas,” he says, because the other man hasn’t said anything yet. “You know what’s gonna happen next, right?”

                Cas’s eyes are bright. He laces their fingers tightly together and nods, finding his voice.

                “Yes, Dean,” he says. He smiles, and Dean’s never seen anything so brilliant. “I think I have just what you’re looking for.”

**

**Author's Note:**

> And thus she exhausts her limited knowledge of underground hydroelectric power tunnels.   
> Thanks to all!  
> paperclothesline.tumblr.com


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